Spones Fluff
by LemonLimePeach
Summary: I love Spock and Bones together, and I wanted to do something with a born-female-still-female Spock. So, here it is. Nothing but fluff.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. These aren't even really necessary, are they?

McCoy loudly sighed in relief when he saw the front door of his home. The taxi driver stopped at the curb, just before McCoy leapt out of the door he had just opened, tossing his suitcase onto the sidewalk beside him. The taxi sped off as McCoy reveled in being back in front of his own home again. The cold felt wonderful against his skin after two months of living in precisely-controlled air (70 degrees Fahrenheit). He inhaled deeply, then picked up his luggage and bolted for the door.

She was waiting just behind it. Lord knows how she timed it so perfectly, but she pulled the door wide open just as McCoy raised his hand to knock. She was regal in her flowing black robes, standing perfectly centered just inside of the door frame. She didn't exactly tower over him-though from the looks they got in public, one would think she did-but she was visibly taller than he. Her black hair was cut shorter than his own (he'd asked her if she'd grow it out a bit, once, just as an experiment, and had received a lecture on how illogical long hair was), and it was a beautiful, pure black. A rather long nose and decidedly large ears, small, dark brown eyes-

He wrapped his arms around Spock's neck and brought their faces close. He concentrated on being near her again; her scent, the feel of her skin, and the other things audio/video could not relay to him across the lightyears. "I missed you, beautiful," he said, his voice uneven with unrepressed emotion.

"I missed your presence as well, Doctor," Spock said evenly. "However, I have something of paramount importance which we must discuss. It can brook no further delays," she said as she pulled the door shut, locked it, and led McCoy by the hand to a sofa.

McCoy's face took on a worried expression, and the fluttery feeling of love in his chest was met with a shadowy feeling of foreboding. He looked over Spock with a doctor's eyes, searching for any outward signs of distress. She looked perfectly calm; even her eyes were serene. Spock took McCoy's other hand in hers and shook her head. "No one is unwell. There is no danger." Muscles relaxed in McCoy's body as he looked up at her, with a scowl.

"You could have worded it a bit less ominously, don't you think?" McCoy asked, a sliver of complaint in his voice to mask his embarrassment at having _illogically assumed_ what was coming was something bad.

"It is illogical to draw conclusions when you have nothing upon which to base them," Spock chided, but she rubbed her thumb against McCoy's palm. He responding by placing a soft, long kiss on her cheek. When he pulled away, they sat, staring at each other, until McCoy could take it no longer.

"Worry didn't work, so now you're trying to kill me with anticipation?" he asked, but placed another kiss on her cheek. Spock closed her eyes for a moment, then placed her full attention on a spot on the wall, just to the right of McCoy's face.

"Doctor, I am pregnant."

McCoy emitted a sound Spock had never heard anyone or anything utter before. His gaze stayed fixed; his body did not move. "But you're sterile!"

"I have begun to write a research paper that makes a case for humans and Vulcans being phylogenetically more related than was supposed. Vulcan DNA studies have not been widely disseminated, because of our concern for privacy. However, I believe the evidence would separate humans and Vulcans at the subspecies, rather than the species, level," Spock rattled off, matter-of-factly. "That would make conception quite possible for a 'hybrid'."

The doctor was speechless again for long moments. "So , that's your evidence," he gestured to Spock's middle lazily.

"Affirmative; the initial piece of evidence," She looked into her husband's eyes and continued, more softly, "You may feel my abdomen, if you wish."

McCoy reached his hand out slowly, as if he were reaching for something he was certain would turn to dust upon contact, and placed his hand over Spock's uterus.

_Those damn Vulcan robes! _he thought to himself. He could feel her enlarged uterus beneath his hand. She couldn't be that far along if she had been able to hide it from him. She sensed his next subject of enquiry, and helpfully supplied, "I am 12 weeks pregnant."

"Why didn't you tell me, Spock?" There was no vitriol in the words, but there was some hurt. Spock pressed one of her hands atop her husband's, which was still resting on her belly.

"Doctor, I know you well. If I had told you while we were apart, you would have worried incessantly. I wished to spare you the emotional discomfort, to say nothing of the loss of productivity. Had your trip run over the scheduled time, I would have informed you before the birth. Please know that I had your best interests in mind." McCoy smiled at that, beautifully white, imperfect teeth gleaming. 

"You do know me better'n anyone," he admitted, using his free hand to cup Spock's cheek.

"I know we never discussed this, seeing as it was impossible and all-" McCoy gave a sturdy pat to Spock's belly, which was so much bigger than when he'd last seen her. "But do you want a child?" Spock didn't exactly light up like a Christmas tree when a child was in the room.

Not that Spock lit up about anything, really.

She'd never seemed lonely or as though something in her life were missing. McCoy felt their family was complete with just the two of them. He'd accepted it when he'd married her, and done so with absolutely no regrets. Most people never found a scintillating, caring, noble, and beautiful partner; he was more than content with that. Because of Spock's assumed sterility, they had never used protection once since they had wed.

He realized that Spock had not responded.

"Are you continuing the pregnancy? If so, are you keeping the baby after the birth?" McCoy asked. Spock hesitated again.

"Please rephrase your query," she asked.

McCoy turned to look her in the face, confused. "All right. Is this,"-he gestured to her middle-"gonna stay with us?"

"I wish it to be so. If you do as well, it will be."

McCoy smiled, allowing himself to think of the fetus as a baby-to-be, now that he knew Spock wanted it. "You know I'll love having another baby."

"The plural form of the last noun should be used. Additionally, I will be the one 'having' them," Spock corrected.

McCoy's head snapped up to meet Spock's eyes again. "Twins?" he emphasized, eyes wide. He looked a bit like he had when he had suffered an overdose of Cordrazine, Spock thought.

"There are three."

"So that's why you look so big-I mean, _you're _not big, the fetuses are-" McCoy rambled. "Sorry, Spock."

"But I _have_ grown larger," Spock conceded, matter-of-fact. "Come," she invited as she stood and held her fingers out for McCoy.

They walked to the bedroom, McCoy still in a daze at the phantasmagoric array of emotions he'd felt in the past few minutes. Spock stood in front of her dresser, removed her robe, folded it, and placed it in a drawer. She removed the piece of clothing covering her breasts and folded it and stored it carefully, as well. She then pulled out a long cotton nightgown from a different drawer. She brought the full length of the gown over her head, then allowed the hem to cascade down as she clothed herself in it. She turned to face McCoy.

"I believe it is more evident when I am not wearing robes," she explained. She arched an eyebrow when she saw her husband gaping at her.

The white cotton was thin, and a bit translucent. McCoy didn't know how he had kept away from her for so long as he admired the long, graceful neck; the dark, omniscient eyes. . .good God, was there anything he didn't love about the woman? She had also been right about her pregnancy being more evident in the nightgown. Which was what brought on the gaping.

"_Three_," he whispered.

"Yes," Spock reaffirmed, looking down at the source of her husband's current state. She pulled the comforter, blankets, and flat sheet back. "You must be fatigued. Your mind and body will both benefit from the rest," she suggested, smoothing the wrinkles from a pillow. McCoy undressed but for his underwear, threw his dirty clothes in the hamper, and snuggled-actually snuggled!-beneath the mountain of blankets between him and shivering. Spock lifted the bedclothes on her side of the bed in an identical manner. McCoy watched as she lowered herself slowly and carefully onto the bed, pulling the covers up past her chin. Only her effulgent black hair and mischievous brown eyes were visible to him as she bade him goodnight, with a promise to make love in the morning.

I would love constructive criticism!


End file.
